Helcë
by LadyPorpoise
Summary: While one father had the small blessing of not seeing the disasters made upon his eldest son, Fingolfin had to see the ones done to his during their trek through the Ice. Even after nearly being frozen to death, Fingon still went to save Maedhros, and came back. One-shot. Bad frostbite mentions. Simple writing. Father and son.


_A/N In which Fingon did not pass through the Grinding Ice unscathed, and also had to live with some hindrances like his brother-at-heart, only not to the same degree as Maedhros did. Still, he managed to do a valiant deed in spite of his disability. I might elaborate this idea somewhere else, in a longer story...we'll see. Fingolfin's view all the way._

 _Nolofinwe = Fingolfin_

 _Artanis = Galadriel_

 _Turukano = Turgon_

 _Findarato = Finrod_

 _Irisse = Aredhel_

 _Findekano = Fingon_

 _Siwen is Fingon's wife, and is mine._

* * *

"You are not doing this to us. You are not _going_ to do this to us." Ñolofinwë said sharply to his eldest, who laid comatose in his arms.

He was not going to let this evil-cursed wasteland claim his son, as it did his daughter-in-law. Turukáno was barely hanging on; Arafinwë's sons were trying to keep him alive; bless them and their loyal hearts towards those all others have abandoned and cursed. Alas, Irissë and Artanis also had to help sustain Findekáno's wife Síwen from collapsing too.

How many more of his loved ones must he lose, for that blasted brother of his? Would he lose his heirs; with no hope of his line continuing if this suicide quest turns out successful?

"You were the one who spoke most in support." Ñolofinwë murmured amidst the harsh wind, "In second to Fëanáro's words. Fulfill your own words: and see this land you wished to behold, less you are forever condemned to Mandos!"

Findekáno only mumbled incoherently after a few moments.

Blast it all…they got this far, and only by very, _very_ special grace from above were they going to make it.

* * *

He had not woken up. He only moved and shifted from time to time, but never truly woke up. Síwen could not bring him back to himself.

Findaráto had woven his illusions to conceal the raw skin that was affected by the ice, give his cousin a more healthier appearance when he was not being checked over. He even gone to the extent of replacing the fingers Findekáno had lost in his right hand: the second and fourth.

They were non-substantial of course, and the son of Arafinwë brought up the idea of having Findekáno learn to hold his own glamor: a strange ability that all the older grandchildren of Finwë had been gifted with, only Findaráto was the one who really learned to use it in Lórien from the Maiar.

Ñolofinwë accepted the offer and would inform his nephew when Findekáno was awake and able to learn.

Now alone, the father looked at his son: fallen into a cold induced sleep that had proven hard to break him out of. Ñolofinwë held the maimed hand, his own fingers breaking the illusion as they went through the insubstantial image. And what other parts of his hroä have been damaged irreparably? Did he even want to know?

…Would Findekáno just slip away?

'Do not leave us, please, do not leave us. See, grass surrounds us once more, and the biting cold no longer is present…the winds do not blow harshly anymore…' Ñolofinwë shook for a moment at the memory of the Grinding Ice, before, as best as his ability was as a father, sent these warmer images of Hísilómë into his son's mind.

* * *

"Maitimo." Findekáno stared drowsily at those surrounding him as he struggled to sit up.

He had overheard the news given to them by Fëanáro's host…Why, and how, was it the mention of his cousin that brings him out of his sleep?

Ñolofinwë was present when they tried to keep him from straining himself…they succeeded, only when the next time they went to see him, Findekáno was already prepared and armed for this new journey he set himself on.

Síwen had literally pulled him away from the horse he would borrow; the animal would not be seen again by any in the camp. She begged him to stay, saying that it was a death-mission, or at least bring some with him. He had refused, already knowing, somehow, that none would go to that hellish-stronghold.

Ñolofinwë approached him, stern emotion. The glamor had faded: Findekáno's true image was there for all to see. An alien looking hand with the three fingers, patches of dead skin along his ears. But the most disconcerting thing was his eyes: they had a tinge of blue to them.

"Do you not know where you go?" The father asked quietly, "What you are facing? How do you know where to go?"

"I will know, if grace is given to me." Findekáno said in a low voice, sounding strange for it having been unused for so long, "It will not mean he suffers alone if I fail." The younger elf mounted, slowly, as if ice and cold still clung to his soul like a hungry animal: not willing to let go.

'Have you already suffered enough, my son?' Ñolofinwë thought with despair, and surprisingly, a little jealously for the trust and loyalty Findekáno and Maitimo shared. He had wanted that between himself and Fëanáro, but nay…his half-brother spat it back at him.

He stood as Findekáno rode off, praying beyond hope that he will come back…

* * *

None were expecting to see the large eagle descend from the sky, not even expecting to see the first son of Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro on the back of the giant creature.

The rest of the six were present; Makalaurë sobbed at the sight of Maitimo being lowered from the bird and be carried away. Many dispersed to follow them, to comfort, and to see what was happening, as Makalaurë and the remaining twin were the only ones that were still easily likeable.

Their high-king had been returned, or whatever was left of him…

"Arise, and come down, little one." The massive bird spoke in a strange voice, not quite what an elf is used to hearing, but still recognizable.

Ñolofinwë approached the avian creature. He saw Findekáno's hand rest on the side of the beast, the three-fingered one. The father pulled on his wrist and the exhausted elf slid off onto the ground, just coming to awareness in time to land on his feet.

Ñolofinwë took in his son's appearance. Nothing had healed, there were still patches of blue stained across his face and arms, and his eyes…they remained the same.

"I had to…I had to…" Findekáno sagged. As if everything started to come back to him, truly awakening from the ice, he knelt before his sire and begged, "Forgive me, my lord. I have wronged you. I have disobeyed you unwittingly."

"Hush." Ñolofinwë said softly, "There is nothing to forgive, my valiant son."

"I was selfish, but I could not leave our king there, when no one else would go. I, a maimed elf, to rescue another who had to be further maimed to be set free."

"We were the ones who were selfish…you are the unselfish, Findë. The self-sacrificing."

Findekáno bowed his head.

"Come, and see what you were hoping to behold when your heart was in passion." Ñolofinwë pulled his son to his feet, and led him back to their new home.


End file.
